The Cat Came Back
by Lord Puppetmon
Summary: Young Argus Filch has lost everything when he is offered a job at the school that denied him for being a squib. He is unhappy with this turn of events... until he meets the school's Gamekeeper.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does, and I absolutely heart her for it.

This fic was written for an obscure character challenge. Thanks to the person who came up with the fic's concept! I didn't expect to enjoy writing this fic so much. It actually made me like Filch. Gasp.

**The Cat Came Back**

The day Argus Filch's parents died of a bad case of Spattergoit was one of the worst days in his life. That was what he thought, at least, until he returned from St. Mungo's that night, and found his beloved cat Norris laying lifelessly on his doorstep. At that moment, the grief-stricken Argus realized, that day had officially turned into _the_ worst day in his life.

Argus' life was never a particularly happy one. His father's job at Diagon Alley's owlery didn't make much, and Argus always wore shabby second-hand robes and had to turn discarded junk into makeshift toys. Things got worse when he did not receive an acceptance letter to Hogworts. From that moment on, every time he left the family's small flat, the shopkeepers pointed at him and whispered among themselves. "There's the Filch family's squib son... poor old Hylas, don't have much luck, that man... probably wants to die of shame."

Hylas Filch certainly wished he could bury himself in a far-off cave and die, but he and his wife Edwina loved their only son more than they were ashamed of him being a squib. They did their best to help Argus find his place in the world. They signed him up for a Muggle secondary school, but Argus, who never went to primary school and only knew how to read and write and do basic math, struggled to catch up and finally dropped out when he was fifteen. His parents refused to give up and began arranging for him to work at stores that did not require much in the ways of magical knowledge or wandwork. In four years, Argus worked in Obscurus Books, Scribbulus Writing Instruments, Eeylops Owl Emporium, Magical Menagerie and even Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop (he didn't last a week). In the end, Argus gave up first, and moved to a tiny one-room flat far away from Diagon Alley and the wizarding world. Since then, he cleaned floors part-time for a living, and hated every minute of it.

The only thing that could bring a smile on his face was Norris. A few days after Argus found out he was a squib, the boy found the kitten in a cardboard box next to the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. The scruffy kitten had one eye and a limp, but for Argus, it was love at first sight. Despite his parents' inhibitions, he decided to adopt him. Hylas and Edwina were not very fond of the new member of the family at first, but seeing how happy he made Argus, they quickly changed their mind about Norris. The kitten was Argus' first friend, and they weren't about to take that away from their beloved son.

That was why Norris' death struck Argus extremely hard. When he found out the cat's reason of death, rat poison the landlord used to rid the building of rodents and pesky strays, Argus couldn't control himself and went off in hopes of strangling the man who killed his only friend. He broke the door to the landlord's flat with a kick, and found the man's burly son waving at him with a cricket bat. Argus was not a brave man, and that was all it took to make him gather his meager belongings and run as far away as he possibly could

And so, on the evening of the death of anyone who ever loved him, Argus found himself homeless and penniless, staying in a tiny room at the Leaky Cauldron inn only thanks to Tom the innkeeper's kindness.

O

The next day, Argus woke up at the break of dawn, as he did every morning, and feebly dragged himself into the tiny bathroom. He washed his face and looked in the mirror, seeing exactly what he had expected to see; a long, gloomy face that made him look much older than his twenty-two years, light grey eyes with droopy lids, long, thin, dully colored hair, a crooked nose and thin lips, which were almost always downturned. He brushed his teeth, an act that never helped them become less crooked and yellowed, and wore the best clothes he could find in his battered trunk. He father's moth-eaten tailcoat was a bit large for him, but Argus assumed it would do for the funeral.

As they lowered his parents' coffins to the ground in London's wizarding cemetery, Argus cursed himself for not taking Norris' body with him as he fled his flat. Norris deserved a proper burial as well... at least his parents received the respect they deserved, though it ate up nearly his entire inheritance. Argus was quite surprised to see that many of Diagon Alley's shopkeepers and their families attend the funeral, but that was only because he projected their dislike for him on his parents. Hylas and Edwina were good people, and many of Diagon Alley's inhabitants loved and appreciated them for their honesty and their good treatment of their squib son. Argus was a lucky man; had he been born to any other pureblooded family, he probably would have never reached adulthood.

Argus was especially surprised to see Albus Dumbledore at the funeral. When he was eleven, Argus received a letter from Hogwarts' revered headmaster, in which Dumbledore explained to him why he could not attend Hogwarts and wished him luck. Argus remembered how he tore the letter to pieces and refused to come out of his room for two days, and huffed irritably. He hoped Dumbledore would go his merry way after the funeral and quit throwing salt in Argus' many wounds.

But Dumbledore stayed behind after all the others left, greeted Argus and asked to speak with him. Argus was unhappy, to say the least, but agreed to come with Dumbledore. An hour later, he found himself sitting at the Leaky Cauldron with Hogwarts headmaster and receiving an offer which make him choke on his mead.

"W-working at Hogwarts?!" he croaked. "_Me?_"

"Yes," confirmed Dumbledore. "Ever since old Apollyon Pringle decided to retire, I have been looking for a new caretaker. Your parents told me before their untimely deaths that you are quite fitting for the job."

Argus sighed. "Nice of them."

"They were very kind."

"So they say."

"You work at cleaning floors these days, is that right?" The white-haired wizard asked and took a sip from his butterbeer.

"Part-time," muttered Argus and frowned. "I got fired from my last job two weeks ago. Found someone who's willing to get paid far less."

"Ah, so you are available," said Dumbledore with satisfaction. "If so, you could begin your work at Hogwarts as soon as possible, if you agree."

Argus shoulders sagged. "I... I don't know. At Hogwarts? With all those children, and their _magic_..."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Do not worry, Argus. Hogwarts' caretaker has much authority, including the ability to give detention to students wandering out of bed at night. Most students wouldn't dare challenging you."

"And where would I live?" Argus asked, still worried. "I assume I'd live in Hogwarts during the school year, but on holidays..."

"You could live in Hogwarts during the holidays as well," said Dumbledore. "Many members of the staff had considered Hogwarts to be their home through the years. You will be given that option as well, of course."

Argus hesitated. Moving into the school that denied him for being a squib... working with the man who sent him the letter that told him why he would never belong... working with adolescents, noisy and arrogant creatures he never liked... that certainly didn't sound like his dream job.

On the other hand, he didn't really have many options.

O

During his first week as Hogwarts' caretaker, Argus managed to have an argument with Irma Pince the librarian, get buried under a pile of Quidditch cups from the fifties, face Peeves the Poltergeist twenty-six times (and ask Dumbledore each time that the giggling pest will be banished from school, without much luck), and find himself at the hospital wing after stepping on a disappearing step. He was released from the infirmary on the first day of school, and when he saw the hundreds of students at the Great Hall, he cursed himself and his decision to accept Dumbledore's offer.

At least the food was good, the best he had eaten since leaving his parents' home. During the feast, as he filled his plate with everything that was served on the staff table (including the inexplicable mints), a huge man with a mane of black hair and a wild beard sat on his left. Argus had never seen such an enormous man, but knew he was too small to be a giant. _Must be a half-giant,_ he thought to himself, though he had never heard of a half-giant before.

"Yer the new caretaker, righ'?" asked the half-giant. "Name's Hagrid, I'm Gamekeeper 'round here."

"Argus Filch," said Argus with his mouth full of roast beef and mash.

"Ah, yer Hylas' boy!" exclaimed Hagrid, his black eyes twinkling. "Sorry 'bout what happen ter him, really am. Great man, Hylas. He loved them owls, didn't he?"

"True," mumbled Argus.

"Yeh didn' have an owl, did yeh?"

"No, al l the owls my father raised belonged to the owlery," grumbled Argus. "We didn't have the money for an owl."

"Ah, 'm sorry 'bout that," Hagrid apologized. "I jus' thought, yeh know, Hylas always said he wanted one."

"I don't really like owls all that much," said Argus, shoving another piece of roast beef into his mouth.

"Too bad, grea' birds," said Hagrid. "But yeh know, I think dragons, those 're the bes'! I'd like ter have a dragon."

Argus raised an eyebrow. That half-giant sure was weird. "I'm more of a cat person, actually," he admitted.

"Cats? Really?" wondered Hagrid. "Well, they're good too. But I neve' had one."

"I had a cat," Argus said with a sigh. At that moment, he missed Norris more than anything.

Suddenly, he felt a giant palm patting his shoulder. Hagrid's dark eyes were full of sympathy and understanding. "I know how yeh feel," he said quietly. "I had a pet I loved, was like a brother ter me. Then he had ter go... t'was tough."

Argus swallowed hard. No matter how much he missed his cat, he wasn't about to show it in public.

"Know what," said Hagrid. "I know this lady, Mrs. Figg. She's a squib, but she has kneazles and half-kneazes fer sale. I'll talk ter her, maybe she'll give yeh a new cat. 'Course she will, she's a good woman!" The half-giant smiled at him through his shaggy beard. "It'll be alright, don't yeh worry."

Argus has to shove a whole baked potato into his mouth to keep himself from crying.

O

The week following the feast, Argus handed out ten detentions, including a double detention to third years James Potter and Sirius Black, and his mood improved considerably. He was positively chipper on Friday, when he boarded the train back to London. He stayed in the Leaky Cauldron that night (this time he got a much better room, paid for by Dumbledore), and on Saturday afternoon he went to Surrey to meet Arabella Figg.

Mrs. Figg was a woman in her forties, with dark brown hair pulled up in a tight bun, who lived in a small house at Little Whinging that smelled strongly of cabbage (she apologized for the smell as soon as he entered - "the man who lived here before us was a crazy muggle who ate nothing but fermented cabbage, I've been trying to get rid of the smell for years). She had two kneazles and two cats, and Argus thought all four were absolutely beautiful. As he sat on the lace-decorated couch in the living room, three of them sat by his side and one of the kneazles even curled up on his lap. Argus stroked his back gently.

"So... how long have you been raising them?" he asked Mrs. Figg as she served him tea and crumpets.

"Oh, it's been about twenty years," she answered. "Mr. Tibbles' father - that's the kneazle on your lap, dear - he was my first. After I finished my studies..."

"At a Muggle school?"

"Yes, actually," said Mrs. Figg, giving him a strange look.

Argus grabbed the handle of his teacup tightly and shrunk in his seat. "I-I'm sorry, I..." he stuttered.

"A squib?" Surprised, Argus straightened up suddenly, spilling some of his tea and frightening Mr. Tibbles. "Yes, I thought so," said Mrs. Figg and smiled. "I heard of you from Serafina Applebee."

"The owner of the Magical Menagerie," mumbled Argus.

"Her mother was my employer twenty years ago," said Mrs. Figg. "A representative of the Ministry of Magic brought us Mr. Tibbles Senior - his previous owner had many magical creatures that need to be licensed to be raised by an average wizard, and of course he didn't have one. Tibbles Senior became very attached to me, and Serafina, who was a Hogwarts student at the time, suggested that I get a license to raise him. I already had two cats, and the nice official that came to me from the Ministry suggested that I open a private business for breeding kneazles with cats. Half-kneazles became quite popular back then, they're thought of as excellent pets."

"They really are excellent," said Argus as he patted Mr. Tibbles' head. "But I don't think I have the money for one..." he sighed. "Actually, I don't have even one measly Knut."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Filch," said Mrs. Figg and got up from her chair. "Come with me, I have something that you may find quite fitting."

Argus followed her (with Mr. Tibbles and his feline friends in tow) to the cupboard under the stairs, which was half-open. Mrs. Figg pulled the door wide open, and Argus saw a large basket inside, padded with a soft blanket. On the blanket was a tiny kitten with dust-colored fur. She uncurled herself and looked at Argus with bulging yellow eyes that looked almost like little lamps.

"Occasionally, I take in strays," explained Mrs. Figg, who knelt to pat the kitten. "This little one and her four siblings were orphans, I just couldn't leave them out there. I've given them all away except for her... I don't know why no one wanted her, she's one of the smartest cats I've ever met. And that says a lot, coming from a kneazle breeder."

"She... she's wonderful," said Argus in a choked voice. She reminded him so much of Norris when he was a kitten. He gave the kitten a rub behind her ear, and she purred. "Does she have a name?"

"Well, she answers to Mrs. Norris. But you can give her a new name, if you'd like," Mrs. Figg offered.

"No, no, that would be fine," said Argus as he looked into the cats yellow eyes, that were identical to his old friend Norris' single eye, and smiled happily. "Mrs. Norris is a perfect name."

**Fin**


End file.
